


Snow Day!

by Jubalii



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series, Layton Kyouju vs Gyakuten Saiban | Professor Layton vs. Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney, 逆転裁判 | Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Lemon, Snow, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-02 07:39:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5240111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jubalii/pseuds/Jubalii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite all odds, it's a snow day in Labyrinthia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

            Espella was usually the embodiment of holiday cheer. Even now, she was dressed in her white dress, her red cloak exchanged for a woolen Christmas-y vest in a brilliant forest green. Her white apron had been exchanged for a similar one with candy canes embroidered on the pocket. She even had adorned the ends of her blonde plaits with sprigs of holly. But while her outfit was full of Christmas spirit, her sighs and slumped shoulders weren’t.

            “What’s the matter, child?” Mrs. Eclaire asked outright one day. She was spooning raspberry and mint jam into the indents of cooling cookies, watching her young ward slump around the shop. “You were so excited about this village just a few weeks ago… has something happened?”

            The ‘village’ she was referring to was Espella and Zacharias Barnham’s first real holiday idea. They’d come up with the idea of a gingerbread village, with cottages small enough to fit into a child’s hand. It had been a resounding success in Labyrinthia, and they’d sold out within the week. Each week, they made a new village with different cottages and new buildings, with little gingerbread people walking among their homes. No town was exactly the same as the last week, and the little children always ran to the bakery on Mondays to see the newest things.

           “I’m still happy for it,” Espella protested as she doused the buildings in a liberal amount of powdered sugar. “But… I’ve just been thinking.” She paused in her sugar duties, staring out the bakery window at the people going about their business. They were well-bundled against the frigid winter air coming off the ocean, the endlessly gray skies casting a bleak glow on the houses decorated so beautifully for the holidays. “Is it too much to ask for a white Christmas, Aunt Patty?”

            “Hmm?” The older woman asked, not really listening as she pressed her fingers lightly into the jelly to make sure it would solidify the proper way. “Whatever do you mean?” She brushed her fingers off onto her apron (who’s little iced gingerbread men motifs matched the ones strolling over the gingerbread bridge built across the glassy sugar-lake).

            “It’s just that everyone talks about snow, and we all use snow in all our decorations, but has it ever actually snowed in Labyrinthia?” Espella pointed out as she began to sift the sugar over the browned rooftops again. “ _I’ve_ never seen it snow,” she added in a mumble, as if feeling the need to back up her own words.

            “Well of course it’s snowed here…I think.” Mrs. Eclaire paused, eyes unfocusing for a moment as she stared into the distance. “I mean, I distinctly remember making snow angels with my sister as a child, but now that I think about it… _was_ that in Labyrinthia?” She nearly dropped a tray of pastries as she thought, the metal sliding from her mitted grasp and hitting the edge of the counter with a clang. She jumped, startled, and looked at it with wide eyes before sitting it back on the sturdy wooden surface.

            Her conundrum was one that scores of Labyrinthians faced as they tried to separate their real memories from the fake ones following the events of the last Witch Trial. For the townspeople, the revelation of their true selves had been one that took a bit of work to accept. After all, when a man governed one’s life for years, it was hard to go back to making one’s own choices, as well as accepting the consequences of one’s actions.

Most had chosen to remain in the town, as it was the only home they remembered, but the real memories still intertwined with the false ones and led to some confusing problems now and again. In the old days, it was easy to say “of course I only dreamed that my wife had black hair and weighed three hundred pounds!” but nowadays it wasn’t quite as easy. Even Mrs. Eclaire, one of the most grounded people in the city, could still be caught calling the bakery a ‘deli’ and talking about when she and her husband fed paninis to the ‘ninety-nine workers of the Eastern Metro on New Year’s Eve”, though Labyrinthia had neither deli nor metro in sight.

“Hello, hello,” The door’s bell jingled and they both turned to see Arthur Cantabella entering. Espella rushed to hug him and help him unwind the thick scarf from his neck. “What’s with the somber mood?” he asked curiously, peering into the murky depths of the shop. “Surely it’s not a quiet day at the bakery, is it? Not with Christmas coming just next week.”

“Dad, why does it never snow here?” Espella asked him, taking the wool coat from him as well and shivering as the chill from outside found its way onto her bare arms. “Everyone talks of snow, but it’s never snowed in Labyrinthia before.”

“It has, actually, but it’s a very rare occurrence,” he corrected her, moving to sit at the long table. His hips cracked as he sat and he winced. “Ah, curse this arthritis. It always gets twice as bad in the winter.” Mrs. Eclaire tutted and brought him a warm cup of tea. “To answer your question, my dear, it hardly snows here because we’re just not in the right climate zone.” He shrugged. “The conditions have to be _just right_ for any sort of winter weather.”

“That’s just not fair,” Espella sighed, taking a seat across from him with a large bowl of potatoes that were just begging to be peeled. She took her knife and began expertly separating the skin from the potato while still leaving both vegetable and peel mostly intact. “When _was_ the last time it snowed? Do you remember?”

“I remember clearly,” her father chuckled. “It was the year Eve was born, and it was a _blizzard_ by Labyrinthian standards. Of course, it wasn’t Labyrinthia back then,” he noted. “In any case, poor Newton had to stand out knee-deep in the snowdrifts to board up all the windowpanes, because Eve’s mother was afraid the baby might catch chill if there was a draft.”

“Well she wasn’t wrong,” Mrs. Eclaire cut in from her spot at the counter. “Babies aren’t quite hardy enough for a strong winter storm. The best place for a baby in winter is in a cradle beside the fire,” she nodded, as if she had kids enough to prove her child-rearing skills.

“Newton wasn’t one to argue with his wife,” Arthur shrugged, taking a sip of the tea and grimacing as the hot liquid scalded his throat. “He stood out there and did it, snow and all. But that was the last time it snowed here in Labyrinthia. Anyone that tells you otherwise is only remembering their past life.”

“So… we’re due for another one, then.” Espella brightened considerably as she looked down at her potatoes. “After all, it’s been over two decades since the last snowstorm.”

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up, Espella,” her father cautioned gently. “After all, it’s got to be _perfect_ conditions, and that’s not something that happens on the nose every two decades.” The girl frowned and huffed.

“I wish… I wish the Story was real in times like these.” Arthur tilted his head at her questioningly. “Then you could have just written snow into the Story and it would have happened.”

“That’s precisely why I _didn’t_ write a lot of weather into the Story, unless I knew for sure that it would happen.” He smiled, though it was bittersweet. “Your father is many things, but I’m afraid magic just isn’t one of them.”

“You’re magic in your own way, Dad,” she shrugged before redoubling back to her problem. “If there was only a way to make sure it would snow….” She sighed again and turned the potato over in her hand, staring at it with such a fixed expression that her father couldn’t help but laugh.

“You look so much like your mother when you make that face,” he declared. “The potato can’t make it snow, but who knows? One day you might be the one to finally figure out climate control, Espella. You’ve got the genes of a great scientist in you,” he added with a wink.

“Mom was a great scientist?” Espella gasped teasingly before breaking into laughter herself. Mrs. Eclaire smiled at the sight; she really was happy to see them getting along as father and daughter should. Perhaps they’d been estranged for a long time, but now that a year or so had passed and the healing had started, the bond was stronger than ever.

Maybe it wouldn’t snow, but warm hearts beat cold ones any day.

* * *

            “Eve!” Eve opened her eyes, wincing at the bright morning sun shining through her window. Since when did the sun become so bright? She yawned, stretching in her bed before throwing back the quilt. Her bare toes curled and she shivered, yanking her long nightdress down over her pale legs. Damn, but it was cold! She sat up, stretching again as gooseflesh pimpled her arms and pushing her disheveled hair out of her face. “Eve!” She blinked, getting out of bed and crossing quickly to the window. The soles of her feet protested at the icy floorboards’ touch.

            She screwed her eyes shut against the blinding sun, trying to figure out what was wrong. Opening the sash, a plop of white fluff fell onto the windowsill and her hand brushed against it. She pulled it back with a gasp, the sheer cold of it shocking her fully awake. Looking out, she saw everything covered in a thick blanket of white, from the gray stone of the city walls to the waters of the lake surrounding her home. She leaned out the window, ignoring the cold breeze accosting her through her thin nightgown as she stared down at her front door. Espella waved up at her, dressed warmly against the cold. She could see her excited face from the window, eyes twinkling and cheeks blushed more from joy than from the winter air.

            “Oh, look, Eve!” she called out rapturously. “Snow! It’s really snow! Dad said that it wouldn’t happen, but it did! Wonderful, beautiful snow!” she screamed in an almost maniac singsong, twirling around and falling back into the snow, white powder bursting up around her as she rolled around. “It’s a holiday miracle!” She jumped back to her feet. “Come on and get dressed! Everyone’s having so much fun!” Without another word, she turned and ran as fast as she could towards the Eldwitch fields, nearly sliding on the iced-over bridge and barely managing to catch herself on the railing.

           She closed the sash again, rubbing her arms and moving to her bureau. She’d never been in the snow before. The people in her stories knew of snow, and her father had told her the story of the Labyrinthian blizzard the year she was born, but she’d never actually seen it outside of pictures from the modern world. Despite her calm demeanor, her heart gave a quiver of excitement and she rushed to pull out her warmest clothing from the back of the bureau.

            She dressed in her woolen undergarments and then found a thick black sweater and matching pants. Rolling up the sweater’s sleeves, she went down the hall to her bathroom and splashed some warm water on her face before brushing her teeth. She left her hair down, running a comb through it; if she was going to wear a hat, trying to put it up in her usual hairstyle wouldn’t be worth it.

            Going downstairs, she stopped in the kitchen for a quick breakfast of day-old roll and tea. The tea warmed her further, resting in her stomach like a small fire and cutting her hunger. She pulled on her boots by the door, searching through a chest before coming up with a maroon scarf and matching toboggan. She put on her black coat before winding the scarf around her neck and looping the ends in a loose knot. She pulled the knitted cap snugly down over her ears, mashing her hair and the scarf to the back of her neck. Her face began to flush from the heat of the outfit, but she knew out in the snow it would be far better to be hot than cold. Thinking, she dug around more and found an old pair of knit gloves; one of them had a hole in the thumb, but they’d work well enough to keep her hands warm.

            She stepped outside, closing the door firmly behind her and smiling as the frigid wind did little to her through her coat. She set off after Espella, following the girl’s bootprints in the snow. It crunched when she walked with an oddly satisfying sound, reflecting the sun’s rays and making the world seem three times brighter than usual. The sounds of the woods were muffled; she heard shouting and laughter from beyond the bridge, and her own crunching—nothing more.

When she reached the bridge, she could barely hear the trickle of not-quite-frozen water pushing its way through the stream’s ice. Where the ice was thick in the actual lake, a few townspeople were out slipping and sliding along the surface. It looked like it hurt when they fell, but they seemed to be having fun anyway. She stopped and stood on the bridge to watch the Vigilantes (minus their loud leader) all in a row, holding hands and working in unison to move across the ice. Their metal boots sounded loud in the absence of other sound, and she cringed when the gangly one’s crutch slipped and they crashed with a clamor, breaking their tight handholds and slipping away from one another like ripples on a pond’s surface.

She moved on and went over the rise, standing at the top to survey the fields. With the snow covering all the natural markers she’d come to know, the fields seemed to stretch on and on. They were large enough that even with most of the city out and about, there was still room enough that groups were able to break off by themselves to play.

The Wordsmith was posing serenely on a snow-covered bolder while the little Petal and her brother worked on making a worthy effigy of him out of the snow. The boy slid on the side of the rock and knocked a piece of the snow-sculpture loose, prompting his red-faced sister to stamp her feet and shout, her young voice breaking on a high note. He began to cry and she crossed her arms with a huff, but reached out after a moment and said something quietly to him, causing him to dry his tears and nod with a snotty sniffle.

In another area, the ‘reformed’ Muggs and Briggs were engaged in what looked like a cross between knife-throwing and beanbag tossing, with the snow built up in little holes and markers in front—assumedly to serve as points to whomever could land their knife in the proper holes. Their opponents were Rouge and Boistrum, the latter proving himself to be quite skilled at the art of arcing the knife just so, causing it to land perfectly blade down in the snow-hole. Rouge applauded him with an impressed smirk as he hit the furthest one from where they stood; he colored, but looked smugly pleased.

Cinderellia was dancing circles around her mother, who seemed to be gathering the snow in a bucket for some reason. Goats hopped and frisked in the snow, baaing happily and forcing Mary and Knightley-Whatley-Whoever-he-was-this-weekly to chase them down before they hit the lake and went spinning, hooves facing four different directions (to the town children’s growing delight). Ridelle and Dewey were building an entire tiny Labyrinthia, with a snow Archive towering over the tiny snow huts. There were pine needles for flags, river rocks for windows, and even a snow-wall.

She saw Espella over near the woods and headed towards her, hand raised in greeting. Espella saw her and said something over her shoulder, her hands working on what looked like a snow-Patty. There was a flash of red and she thought that real-Patty was there, but the figure straightened up and she saw that it was Sir Barnham. He was wearing a dark blue scarf that she’d never seen before, the ends tossed over his shoulders as he grabbed large handfuls of snow and packed them around the snow-Patty’s base. He saw her and grinned, wiping his arm across his forehead.

“Miss Eve,” he greeted her brightly as she came closer. “Tell me; is this not a genuine likeness of the baker Eclaire?” She stared at the lopsided figure, a small, polite smile locked on her face. _Yes, about as genuine a likeness as that birthday éclair was of me…._ But they had clearly worked up a sweat building it, and she didn’t want to hurt their feelings.

“She—she’s very unique.” He took her remark as a compliment and grinned even wider, his face scrunching and making him look rather boyish. She felt something flutter in her chest and looked away, stomach flipping. _No, none of that. Not today._

“She needs some snow-bread,” Espella pointed out, gloved fist smacking against her open hand. “Sir Barnham, you get the snow, and I’ll get some of these leftover mouth pebbles for the berries on the top.” She bent down and scooped up a handful of round river pebbles, counting them as they sat wetly in her hand. Barnham gathered up some snow, but eyed it, then Espella, with a mischievous grin. He winked at Eve, holding a finger up to his lips before crunching quietly over to stand directly behind the girl.

Eve realized what he was going to do a split-second before he did it, but to her surprise she felt no urge to stop him. He yanked the lapel of Espella’s coat back in one quick movement, shoving the handful of cold snow down her shirt and stepping back with an expression of prankster glee. It took only a moment longer to register with the girl and she began to hop up and down, face contorting.

            “Oh, _OH_! Cold! It’s cold!” she squealed, flapping her arms and turning in a circle until the snow melted against her skin. She whipped around, running full speed at the ex-Inquisitor and pounding his chest and back with her fists while he laughed uncontrollably. “How could you!? That was so mean! _Oh, I hate you_!” she cried as he gave up trying to fend off her blows and began to run around the field with her in hot pursuit. She stopped long enough to scoop up a great armful of snow and began pelting him with it as they ran around childishly, both shouting and yelling at the top of their lungs.

            Eve stood dumbly, watching them with an expression of utter bafflement. How could they stand to act so immature in front of the entire town? Was freezing each other really so fun that they forgot where they were? _They’re acting like a brother and his kid sister,_ she thought disapprovingly as they tore up the snowy field, throwing snowballs at each other as they dissolved into laughter.

            “Oh, wait!” Espella said when she was out of ammo. She stood up straight and then ran to Eve’s side, standing on her tiptoes to whisper in the older woman’s ear. “Eve, is your house unlocked? I have you…you know.” Eve nodded and a look of relief crossed the blonde’s face. “Good. I hate going in the woods. I’ll be right back,” she called to Barnham before turning and picking her way back towards the bridge.

            “Well, shall I freeze you next, Miss Eve?” he said impishly, turning towards her. She stared wide-eyed at him, shocked that he’d even suggest stuffing _anything_ down her shirt. After all, Espella was still immature enough to be considered a younger girl, even if she was in her teens. _She_ was a grown woman, and no man was pulling _her_ shirt. _Not that I’d mind him doing it…._ Her cheeks burned as her mind made a U-turn into unacceptable territory; she shook her head quickly, backing away and crossing her arms protectively over her chest.

            “Absolutely not. If you even try, the consequences will be severe,” she warned seriously. To her growing amazement he stepped forward to put the same distance between them, his hand moving to tug the knot of her scarf playfully as he smirked.

            “Is that a challenge I hear?” he asked teasingly. “Or are you just afraid that I’ll overpower you with the balls of snow?” Her poor heart continued its desperate fluttering, stomach twisting knots as he stepped even closer. _Is he… **flirting** with me?! _ The very thought had her red-faced, her shyness rearing its ugly head and leaving her speechless. _I d-don’t know how to respond; what do I do?_ Where the hell was Espella when you needed her? The girl always seemed to disappear right when her bubbly personality was needed to dispel the tension. Finally she scoffed, trying to put some distance between them again. At this point, he’d be stepping on her boots in another moment.

            “There’s no challenge; I’d never let you overpower me.” He stood there and laughed, hands on his hips. Her face burned harder as he laughed at her, though _what_ exactly he found so funny she didn’t know. Before she realized what she was doing, she’d scooped up a small fist of snow and threw it at him with expert aim. It smacked him in the face, snow exploding out of the lightly-packed ball.

He stopped laughing, shaking his head and brushing the snow off his cheek. It stuck to his eyebrows and in his hair, the spot of skin where it impacted bright red from the cold. For a moment all was still. Their eyes locked and they stared each other down. She felt some silent conversation passing between them, but it was in a language she wasn’t quite familiar with and she licked her lips nervously. A slow, calculating smile spread over his face and she found herself returning it as he bent down and up in a smooth, solid motion.

The snowball smacked her in the stomach with enough power to disintegrate the ball, but not enough to really hurt. She grunted and backed away as he stalked towards her, two handfuls of snow ready to throw. She hit the side of a tree and an idea popped into her mind. She let him get close before smacking the limb directly above her head hard. The snow shook from the limb and fell on him, causing him to drop his handfuls as the chill made him cry out in surprise. She ran around him, ducking around the falling snow and gathered enough to beam him in the back of the head, the powder falling on the sapphire scarf and bringing out the color of the cloth even more than his hair did.

He got her in the arm as she dodged out of the way and then it was a battle. Both of them used the trees as both cover and weapons. Snow got in her hat, in her gloves, in her coat, but surprisingly she didn’t care. She was actually having a good time! There was something to the dirty tactics of their little battle that made her enjoy every hit she got on him and curse every one that hit her.

Eventually their supply of snow-covered limbs ran dry and she made a break for it, slipping and sliding through the snow back towards the snow-Patty still standing forlornly at the crest of the hill just outside of the woods. His fingers found purchase the back of her coat and she gasped, dreading what would come next; somehow she found herself laughing as she tried to dislodge him, using every means at her disposal to keep him from getting the snow past her scarf. She twisted around, trying to break his grip and her boot slid beneath her; the snow, warmed by the sun, was beginning to melt and turn into slush.

He fell with her, twisting them both so that his shoulder took the brunt of the fall before rolling twice. She ended up on top of him, both of them nearly breathless with laughter and exertion.

“Alright, so maybe I cannot get the best of you after all,” he conceded, lying on the cold, melty ground as though it were a warm bed. His smile softened as he looked at her, gloved hand reaching up to brush the snow from her hair. Her heart pounded in her ears and it must have been loud enough for him to hear it, for he looked at her strangely and then sat up, close enough that their noses brushed when he adjusted his arm beneath him. She couldn’t pull away, her entire body frozen; it had to be, since he was so warm beneath her that she could feel him through her clothes…or was it just her body was too hot all of a sudden?

“Miss Eve—there is something I’ve wanted to say for a while now,” he murmured, gray eyes looking solemnly into her own. She gulped, licking her lips again and feeling the cold on them anew, along with the warm puffs of his breath mingling with hers in the space between them.

“Y-yes?” Was that his heart racing beneath her hand, or was it just her own pulse she felt in her fingers? Why was he breathing so heavily? Come to think of it, she was fighting for air too. Was it because he was so close to her? She could smell berries or jam or— whatever he had for breakfast—on his breath. _Too close_ , her mind chastised, but she wasn’t pushing him away. Why wasn’t she pushing him away? In fact, she was letting him come closer, his head tilting, and it was either go cross-eyed trying to look at him or close her eyes, and her lids were sliding shut, and the fact that the entire town was in the fields was a miniscule thought in her mind that hardly registered, and—

“H-help! Someone, _anyone_ , help!” The panicked shriek cut through her senses and she turned her head towards the source of the noise, nearly smacking him in the nose. _The bridge!_ His hand tightened on her shoulder (when did it get there?!) and he pushed himself off the ground, almost knocking her off of him. Others stopped their play and turned, sounds of confusion rising from the citizens as they looked in vain for the source of the cry.

“Help, please!” the person shouted again; they were both off and running towards the bridge in an instant, their instincts working and overriding any other thoughts. She sprinted as fast as she could in the melting snow, but he still overtook her by a good three paces as they climbed the hill that led towards the bridge. Reaching the top, they saw a small crowd gathered on the bridge.

“Get out of the way!” Barnham shouted at them. They turned and immediately obeyed, used to following the celebrity-status knight’s orders without fail. The pair ran to the middle of the bridge, where a girl of about ten was sobbing hysterically and pointing at the water. “What’s happened?” he said, his voice somehow gentle even in its urgency.

“M-m-my brother!” they managed to make out amongst sobs of meaningless panic and fear, along with “water” and “goat”. An adult stepped forward, gesturing madly to them.

“The boy was chasing a goat beneath the bridge and the ice cracked! He’s fallen in!” he said quickly, his voice struggling to be calm as it could in the face of the sister’s grief and terror. Eve looked over the side of the bridge to see a small hole, just the right size for a kid to fall through. She cursed, knowing that the water she’d heard beneath the bridge meant that the stream wasn’t frozen like the lake. The sun had been warming it all morning, and now the ice on the stream was thin. If an adult were to go down there, they’d fall in as well.

How were they going to get the child?! She looked up and down the bank, trying to see fi the ice broke up downstream for them to catch the child as it drifted. There was no luck, and she smacked her fist against the side of the railing. What could they do? What could they do!? A child was trapped, helpless beneath the ice, and there was _nothing_ she could do!

There was a flurry of movement next to her and a woman screamed as a body jumped from the railing. Eve saw a flash of ginger as a loud _crack_ rang through the frosty air and an even larger hole appeared next to the smaller one. There was a chorus of shouts from the men as they all moved forward, crowding her on the bridge as they looked down at the hole.

“Zacharias! _No_!” She fell onto her knees, worming her way through the bars of the railing to be able to see better. Muffet let out a fluttering sob and fainted dead away, leaving Lottalance to catch her before she fell off the side of the bridge as well. There was a silence, the only sound the snatches of burbling river, and then someone whispered “Sir Barnham?” quietly enough that she might have only imagined it.

Suddenly she leaned closer to the water, eyes narrowed. _Did I see_ —? Yes! A hand thrust up out of the water and she swooped in to grab it in a tight grip, not daring to let go for anything. There was a collective intake of breath from the townspeople, and then someone shouted “Help her! Help the High Inquisitor!” Hands grasped at her clothes, under her arms, nearly yanking her arm out of its socket as they tried to pull her up enough that they could reach around and catch Barnham’s hand.

A tiny body came up from the water first and before she could say anything, Boistrum was at her side. He grabbed the child and cradled it to his chest, running in the direction of the Shade Village; it was much closer than the town, and there’d be fires and warm clothes there.

“Someone call for Jean Greyearl to help the child!” she heard a woman say.

“I’ll do it!” That was Lettie, Eve knew from the voice. _Good, send Lettie!_ She thought desperately. _With a voice as loud as yours, Jean should be able to hear you from the gates._ “I’ll find his parents, too! I’ve seen him on Main Street; he must live around there!” She heard the quick tramping of feet on the bridge, but her mind was focused on getting the rest of Barnham’s body out of the water.

He emerged coughing and sputtering, and she couldn’t help but sigh in relief. _He’s not dead!_ He managed to grab ahold of the railing and help pull himself up with shaking hands. _Everything_ was shaking, his teeth chattering, clothes sodden and scarf darkened to a black cloth with the water’s help. The people on the bridge cheered, but she heard a feminine scream and looked up to see Espella standing on the side of the bridge, hands over her mouth.

“Espella!” she called. “Run to the bakery! Get Zacharias some dry clothes and bring them!” The girl faltered only a moment before heading in the direction of the city, following Lettie’s footsteps as fast as she could. “Come on. You’re coming with me. Move aside,” she ordered in her High Inquisitor voice, commanding instant obedience from the crowd just as well as he had. They stepped back and let them through, offering Barnham encouraging words and shouts of praise for his bravery. He didn’t seem to hear, his lips turning blue as he tried to walk a few steps without trembling like a leaf.

She half-led, half-carried him back to her house, leaving the crowd on the bridge without another word. She was surprised they didn’t follow her back to her home, but maybe they were just as shocked as she was, in their own way. She led him through the house, not even stopping to frown at Espella’s drippings in the hallway and foyer where she didn’t remove her boots. She put him in the drawing room, pulling the curtains to.

“Get those wet clothes off,” she directed, piling logs into the grate. She had to get him warmed back up before hypothermia set in. She filled it as high as she dared and then lit the fire, staying kneeled on the hearth until the little flame had grown to her liking. She stood and saw that he’d only removed his coat, scarf, boots, and gloves, still shaking in his clothes. “I meant _all_ your wet clothes, Zacharias.”

To her amazement, he looked self-consciously down at his shirt. She huffed, shaking her head. “This isn’t the time to be shy; you’ll catch your death of cold if you keep those on. Come on and take them off. I won’t look, I promise.” Like she’d be able to look without wanting to hide under a rock for an eternity! Perhaps if Dimere really worked, she might have made herself invisible for a quick peek, but even then she’d never be able to look at him without blushing. “I’m going to get some warm blankets. Stay here.”

“A-a-aye,” he managed to say. She turned on her heel and paused only to take off her boots and place them neatly at the door, getting a cloth from the kitchen to mop up the melted snow before someone (most likely her) slid and hurt themselves. Goodness knows there were enough accidents today already. She ran upstairs and rummaged around in her bedroom, finally coming up with one spare sheet. She cursed and shrugged, pulling the quilt and blankets from her bed as well before wadding them all together and marching back downstairs.

She went back into the drawing room, peering around cautiously to see that he’d half hidden himself behind the loveseat, hunkered down even while his hands stretched feebly towards the fire. He saw her and hunched lower, trying to hide his shirtless chest from her. Her mouth went dry and she stood still for a moment, her eyes roving over him before getting embarrassed at her behavior. The poor man was half-frozen and here she was, eyeballing him like he was one of the half-naked men that paraded around outside the tavern after work hours.

“Here,” she muttered, handing him the sheet first and closing her eyes, turning her head. She heard him come forward and take the sheet from her.

“Alright,” he said after a moment, still shaky but not quite as shivery. She opened her eyes to see he’d wrapped around himself like a toga, effectively hiding anything and everything she might have seen otherwise. She silently handed over the rest of the blankets and he wrapped up in them as well, draping them over his shoulders and moving to sit on the loveseat facing the hearth.

“I’ll get us some tea while we wait for Espella to bring your clothes,” she said and he nodded, his eyes locked on the fire. She left for the kitchen, finding a tray and putting on the water to boil. While she waited she gathered some teacakes and the cups and saucers, and then stood wringing her hands as she chewed her lip. _Get yourself together, Eve!_ She sniffed and rubbed her face, realizing that she still wore her outerwear. She pulled off the hat and scarf, draping them over the table as the kettle began to whistle. Taking a deep, much needed breath, she gathered the rest of the tray together and carried it back down the hall.

“Here we are,” she announced as she came back into the room. She prepared a cup for him and he took it silently, hands closing around the hot glass as he took a short sip. He shook his head at the teacakes so she just ate one herself, neither of them speaking as the clock above the mantle ticked quietly. After he was finished, she took the cup back from him and pushed the platter towards the middle of the coffee table before turning to face him on the loveseat. “That was a foolish thing you did. You could have been killed, you know.”

“What else was there to do? Someone had to try and save that child.” He stared into the fire, and she noticed with satisfaction that his lips were not blue anymore and there was color coming back to his face. “I did what I had to.”

“I know. That’s why I’m not going to say any more about it.” He looked at her now, eyes glimmering in the dusk of the room. The only light was from the fire and what filtered in from the hall, since the curtains were closed. She could technically open them up now that he was covered decently, but she couldn’t find the strength to get up. Between the ice scare and the day’s events, she was tired.

“Miss Eve…” He was staring hard at her, his expression the same one he made in the snow right before he was about to—

“What were you going to say to me?” she asked quickly, before she could let her bashfulness get the better of her. He looked startled.

“Ah, er—‘tis just that the moment got away from us, don’t you think?” he laughed awkwardly. She moved closer, leaning over to box him in the way she used to do the cowardly, snot-nosed ne’er-do-wells that she caught writing graffiti on the alleyway walls.

“You were going to kiss me instead of talk, weren’t you?” she asked boldly, despite how the word ‘kiss’ made her tremble a little herself. He swallowed and then looked pensively at her; before she knew it, he’d extended his blanketed arms like a crazed bat and swallowed her up in cloth. She was nestled between him and the couch, the blankets forming a protective cocoon of warmth.

“Not originally, but when you didn’t stop me, I—” He cleared his throat and grabbed tightly to her arms when she tried to rise up. “Stay with me, Eve. I’m cold,” he whispered, the sound going right through her like a jolt of electricity. “And you’re _warm_.” She slowly stopped resisting, letting him pull her back down until her head was on his chest. It _was_ his heart this time, beating quickly beneath her ear. She felt as though she was on fire; despite his claims, his chest felt warm against her cheek and the air in the blanket cocoon was growing more and more heated the longer she lay there.

“Espella will be coming soon,” she reminded him softly, though she made no more moves to leave her current spot. He made a sound of agreement, twisting and turning on the loveseat until his body faced hers. “Zacharias, this isn’t—” She trailed off, unsure of what she meant to say. This isn’t right? This isn’t proper? They should stop before Espella walks in and finds them in a very compromising situation? Yes, all of those, but at the same time she didn’t _want_ to stop, not exactly.

A hand touched her chin hesitantly, cupping her jaw and tilting her face up. She struggled to breathe as the tension rose along with the heat; the look in his gaze was scorching her to the bone, so it was no wonder that she couldn’t remember how to think, much less tell him to hurry up and spit out whatever he was going go tell her.

“Miss Eve, for quite a while now I’ve been—um, well, you see—I’ve been thinking about you.” She blinked at him uncomprehendingly, not sure what he was trying to say. “What I mean is that for almost as long as I can recall, I’ve been harboring—I’ve been wanting to—I, erm….” He closed his eyes, cutting off her view of the stormy irises and giving her time to clear her head.

“Zacharias, would you please hurry and tell me what you need to tell me before Espella comes back and rui—interrupts?” She was chewing her lip again, worried that perhaps the ice water had got to his head after all. He’d only been in there a minute or two; how long did it take for hypothermia to set in?

“I know,” he insisted, but lapsed back into silence. Finally he opened his eyes, running his thumb along her jaw. She shivered as he began to speak. “Tis just that I wish—every time I look at you, I wish to touch you. A-and when you say my name…” he wriggled, his free hand grabbing one of hers and placing it on his chest. “My heart begins to do this, and I want to put my hand here,” His hand rested on her stomach, fingers running over the soft fuzz of her sweater. “And I can’t help but wonder what you’d do if I—”

His lips brushed hers, cutting off any response as he grew bolder. She moaned softly, eyes closing as she wound her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. Her fingers tangled in his hair of their own accord, feeling the damp strands curiously. He made a muffled sound in the back of his throat and his tongue swept out to run along her lip, sending a burst of desire straight through her nerves. She forgot his condition, Espella, everything; her only thoughts were of the taste of his mouth, the slick sensation of his tongue against hers, sliding teasingly as his hand pressed into the back of her neck, pushing them even closer.

When they finally broke apart, panting and clinging to each other, she found that she’d somehow managed to loop one leg around his waist and his hand was on her breast. She cleared her throat and he chuckled nervously, taking his hand away and smoothing the edge of her now-rumpled sweater. She tried to pull her leg back down, but his thigh was in the way and it took a moment of adjustment for them to get back to a less intimate position, their jumbled bodies like a puzzle that needed to be figured out.

“Well, in any case….” His tongue darted out across his lower lip . “I’ve kept telling myself that romance has no place on the battlefield, but I suppose that was before I realized how much I thought about you.”

“Need I remind you,” she started slowly, her fingers spreading out across his chest as she gathered her thoughts, “that you have a crudely drawn image of me that you’ve thrown darts at for years whenever we fought?” Despite her accusations, she couldn’t help but remember the old adage spoken by every Labyrinthian mother at some point: _he only teases you because he likes you_. She hated every time a dagger hit the center of her fatly drawn face; half the time he did it simply for spite. “You only did it to make me angrier, didn’t you?”

“When you’re angry, your face gets all red and you’re so…passionate.” There was a husky edge to his voice that made her spine tingle. “I like to see it, even if that _is_ wrong of me.” She heard a knocking at the door and sighed, moving to get up. He pulled her back quickly, lips brushing her ear. “If I make an excuse to remain here, will you have me?”

“No,” she replied smartly. “Not after just saying that you get me angry on purpose.” She began to walk out of the room, turning back at the door and plastering a purely Darklaw expression on her face. “But if you agree to go home and rest, then the next time you’re here I’ll see what I can do about becoming a little passionate.”

She winked and then all but ran to the door, afraid of looking back and seeing something that might make her want to ignore Espella’s desperate knocking and stay.


	2. Chapter 2

            “High Inquisitor Darklaw.”

            Eve paused, turning back to see Rogue sticking her head out the tavern door. It was past closing time, but the woman motioned to her unhurriedly. “Come here for a minute.” Without further ado, the bright crop of hair disappeared back into the tavern and Eve was left standing in the middle of the alley. She looked about, trying to decide whether to go in or not; she wasn’t the most popular person in this part of town, and she’d never really spoken to Rogue outside of a friendly greeting now and again. Finally she sighed and doubled back, entering the tavern as she looked over her shoulder to make sure no one saw her. Whatever it was, surely it wouldn’t take more than a few minutes.

            She’d never been in the tavern before; _this place_ … _is a mess._ She frowned as she peered into the dark crevices; it looked shady enough that she wouldn’t frequent it on a regular basis, even if she _was_ Rouge’s friend. Not that it was dirty _,_ per say. No, the entire tavern had the air of being hygienic enough, or at least swept up on occasion. It was just sorely evident that no one cared about the upkeep: there were daggers sticking out of the walls, broken furniture piled up in a corner, splintery stab-marks all on the counters, and a large tear in the decorative tapestry. She craned her neck to see the chandelier creaking ominously, looking as though it might fall at any given moment. In the far corner was a spindly staircase that led to who-knows-where.

            There were a few patrons about, even with the closed sign hanging crookedly in the window. A scarred man stood in a corner, tongue stuck out in concentration as he whittled a large piece of wood, the floor around him littered with shavings. The captain of the Vigilantes sat at the counter, staring down at strategically-placed daggers and holding a chalice in his hand. He scratched his chin, too absorbed in his thoughts to be his usual noisy self. At a table beneath the stairs, three men sat in a card game that seemed to be escalating towards a brawl as one of them laid out four aces with a smug grin.

            “Oi, clear out!” the voluptuous bartender ordered loudly, hitting her fist against the side of the counter. All the men looked up at her save Boistrum, who was muttering to himself as he twisted one of the daggers. “I want to talk to the High Inquisitor alone. Go home and get some sleep.” She nodded to the sculptor. “Or in your case, just get upstairs.” He sighed dejectedly, but climbed the stairs without a word, leaving nothing but the shavings in his wake.

The men grumbled, but a stern glare from the tavern keeper had them quickly gathering their cards and stuffing money down their shirts. They passed Eve warily, one of them looking at her with a defiant expression that dared her to stop them and take their ‘rightfully earned’ winnings. Rouge stared expectantly at Boistrum, but he still didn’t look up and she shrugged.

“Just ignore him. He’s determined as hell to figure out that puzzle tonight,” she chuckled as she pointed Eve to a barstool at the opposite end of the long counter. “You hungry? Thirsty?” she asked as she took a dingy rag from beneath the counter and wrung it out before cleaning off a suspicious stain. “It’s on the house since we’re closed; you’re my guest tonight, not a customer.”

“N-no, I—” Eve looked around self-consciously, hands twisting in her lap. “What’s all this about?” she asked, trying to sound professional and hurried. Rouge eyed her thoughtfully and she wilted, clearing her throat. “I mean, what did you want to tell me?”

“I heard about what happened at the bridge. That was pretty good of you and Zacharias both, helping out that poor kid.” The rag continued to make small circles on the counter until the stain was gone. “Besides, I hear you’ve got your eye on our good Inquisitor Barnham.”

“W-what makes you say that?!” She glanced quickly at Boistrum, satisfied that he still wasn’t paying attention to their hushed conversation. “A-and he’s not an Inquisitor anymore, you know. Neither am I,” she added in a whisper.

“Oh, I hear things. You can’t run a tavern without hearing things,” Rouge remarked casually, putting the rag away and getting another, cleaner cloth to polish chalices with. “And I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. He’s head over heels in love with you, you know.”

“ _What_?!” Oh, great. Now she was blushing. Rouge only grinned and shrugged one shoulder.

“Yeah. I can tell. He’s such a big dork, for a knight of the inquisition. But he’s loveable and pretty damn respectable, isn’t he? You can’t help but like him; it’s no wonder half the women in town want him.” She was speaking girl-to-girl now, leaning against the counter and holding the chalice to the light. It sparkled faintly and she nodded, satisfied. “I mean, I’m not saying that _I_ want him: he’s really not my type.”

“Just listen,” she continued seriously as she grabbed another chalice. “If you decide to break his heart, I’m going to aim a dagger right between those pretty eyes of yours,” she warned with the utmost solemnity. “You got that? Don’t go stringing him along; he might act like a really tough guy, but he’s sensitive. I’ve seen enough to figure that much out for myself.”

“I wasn’t planning on it!” she protested, arms crossed. “I mean—”

“Do you love him?” She was hit with the full force of the woman’s stare and she felt her face burning. Moaning softly, she buried her head in her arms; how much more humiliation could she take!? Did the entire town see it as clearly as Rouge? “I see,” she heard her say, and pushed her face further down until her nose hit the splintered wood. “Espella’s right; you really _are_ shy, aren’t you?”

“Got it!” There was a clamor and she raised her head to see Boistrum standing, pointing triumphantly at the daggers. “ _This_ is how they should go!”

“You got it then, B?” Rouge laughed as she abandoned Eve to her mortification and went to look down at the daggers. “Well, let’s try it.” She took the chalice from him and filled it from a barrel of ale. Eve watched in fasciation as she slung it with an expert flick of the wrist. The chalice dinged against the daggers, following a pattern until it slowed to a stop right in front of Boistrum’s chair without a single drop of ale spilling onto the counter. He leaped in the air, armor clanking as he celebrated. Rouge laughed again and took one of the daggers out, twirling it around between her fingers.

“Good job. I’m impressed.” Boistrum crossed his arms and nodded, looking pleased with himself. “You know… if you come back tomorrow night, I’ll make up a new one that’ll stump you for sure.”

“You only wish that you could stump a brain as sharp as mine!” He retorted. “Your puzzles will never overpower me, Rouge.” He paused. “Still, I’ll come back tomorrow to see what you can come up with.” He then seemed to notice Eve for the first time, hopping to attention. “High Inquisitor! I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Hello,” Eve greeted him quietly. He stepped closer, eyes narrowing.

“Are you alright? You look as though you might have a fever.”

“I-I’m fine!” she replied, too quickly. “I’m fine,” she repeated a moment later, her voice the calm silk of her High Inquisitor persona. “Rouge and I have just been chatting.”

“Ah.” He paused again, looking between the two women. “Then I shan’t keep you waiting any longer. It grows late, after all.” He saluted Eve, and then held his hand out to Rouge. The woman hesitated before putting her hand in his and shaking it quickly. He caught it before she could pull it back, kissing the knuckles lightly before releasing her and nodding amiably. “Until tomorrow then. I’ll let myself out.” They both watched him leave silently, the door shutting behind him with a final squeak.

“It seems to me that someone has their eyes on _you_ ,” Eve said without thinking. Immediately she bit her lip, wondering if that was going too far with someone she really didn’t know all that well. But if Rouge was offended she didn’t show it, walking back over and wiping her hands on the towel with a vacant, but pleased expression.

“Yeah… I know.” She looked at the door again. “It’s not the first time it’s happened, and I don’t know what all the guys will say about me and a Vigilante, but I’m really considering it.” Her smiled turned into something more secretive and personal as she put away the towel and draped herself over the counter, head in her hand as she arched a brow at the former High Inquisitor. “But I didn’t call you in here to talk about my love life. I want to help you with yours.”

“I don’t need help! I don’t have a love life!”

“That’s _precisely_ why I want to help you. Don’t you want one?” Eve considered the woman’s words. She opened her mouth to say no, but something deep down stopped her. She thought of the fun she had yesterday, running around the fields and fighting like children. She thought of the panic that had fluttered in her stomach when he’d went beneath the ice, the relief she’d felt when he’d come back, the taste of his lips, the feel of his hands running up her body, the soft growl of his voice when he begged her to stay and keep him warm….

“I—I don’t know.” She rubbed a hand over her forehead, brushing back her hair. “I just don’t know.”

“You do too know,” Rouge snapped. “I can tell you do, just by standing her and looking at you. Just think—how would you feel if tomorrow he ran off and got together with…oh, let’s say Foxy?” She wanted to say that she wouldn’t care one bit, but the very thought of him even _touching_ that armor-clad broad had a dark emotion unfurling in her chest and scraping the insides of her body, filling her with irrational anger. “You’d be jealous, wouldn’t you?”

“Psh. Fine, so maybe I’d be a little annoyed if he kissed me and then ran off to be with some woman.” Something dropped to the ground and she jumped on the stool. Rouge was staring wide-eyed at her.

“He’s _kissed_ you!?” she shouted incredulously. There was a muffled thump from upstairs and they both paused, but heard nothing more. “Really?!” she laughed, in a quieter voice. She reached over and punched Eve’s arm lightly, looking surprisingly like Barnham as she beamed foolishly. “Hot damn! I didn’t think he had it in him.”

“Shh!” Eve could barely stand the urge to get up and run out of the tavern. She just wasn’t used to having her personal life spoken about in such a fashion! Even Espella would have been too much in a scenario like this; much less an older, worldlier woman who’d probably had scores of lovers if she wanted it. Rouge might have her _own_ trail of broken hearts somewhere, but Eve wasn’t about to find out.

“Anyway…” Rouge pushed one side of her hair back behind her shoulder, eyeing Eve almost lazily. “So you’d be jealous after all, Lady Darklaw. Now, why is it that you’re not out there seizing up his heart like you used to seize your so-called criminals? Why haven’t you secured his affections for good?”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Eve asked, confused. Rouge straightened up and sneered, a wide Grinch-sneer that spread from ear to ear and made her look like something formidable.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

“ _SIR_!” Barnham nearly leapt from his seat when the loud voice echoed through the bakery. Patty threw down her rolling pin in surprise and Espella squealed in alarm, but the courier didn’t seem to notice as she tugged her scarf down below her mouth and smiled amicably at them all. “Mail run!”

“Hello, Lettie,” Espella managed to greet weakly, a pale hand pressed over her heart. “You certainly know how to wake a sleeping village.”

“A mailperson much deliver a cheerful smile along with the letters,” she quoted as she sat a large box down on the family table. The trio looked curiously at it, and then at the tiny note Ms. Mailer placed on top of it. “This is all for you, Sir Barham.” Lettie patted the side of the box gently. “This is from the confectioner as thanks for rescuing his son the other day. He said to please take it as a small token from him for the holidays. And the top one…”

“This is Eve’s handwriting,” Espella noted as she turned the note over in her hands. Lettie smacked if from her hand, her usually pleasant face scowling.

“Don’t read other people’s mail!” she shouted. Espella’s eyes widened, but she didn’t move to pick up the note again as she rubbed her smarting hand. “Yes, it’s from Lady Darklaw. She handed it to me yesterday evening with the instructions to deliver it to Sir Barnham this morning.”

Barnham managed to get the lid off the box, and they all peered into it. Espella clapped her hands together, eyes twinkling as the innards of the box proved to be a large assortment of holiday candy in all shapes and sizes. Lettie’s smile returned and she adjusted her hat.

“Well, you’ll get fat if you eat all that in one go!” she joked. “In any case, before I leave I’d like to purchase that gingerbread post office, Mrs. Eclaire. I’ve been admiring it in the window for three days now and I want to eat it before it gets too stale.” Espella reached in around Barnham and took piece of saltwater taffy, unwrapping it and moaning in delight as she bit off a piece of the soft, chewy candy.

“If you like them, you can have them all,” Barnham told her. “I prefer chocolates to taffy.” He took a truffle from the box and chewed it with a smile as he offered the box to Patty, then to Lettie. The courier refused, already having eaten the roof off the post office while she paid for it. Patty took a butterscotch and fingered the crackly wrapper as she sucked on it.

“Read the note,” Espella managed to say around her mouthful of taffy. She turned her cloak into a makeshift bag and began picking out all the taffy from the box, the cloth sagging with each handful she stuffed into it. “Eve could have just come to tell you herself, really.”

“Child, don’t take all that taffy in one go!” Patty chastised, putting handfuls back in the box as fast as Espella could get them out. “You’ll rot your teeth and have to go to the tooth-puller like you did when you were younger. Don’t you remember that?” The girl paused and then dumped most of the taffy back into the box, a hand rubbing her cheek as she winced in remembrance. “And leave Zacharias’s notes alone. They’re private.”

He opened the note while the two argued over whether Espella had a right to _all_ the taffy in the box just because he told her she could have it, since Patty might want some on occasion and the girl didn’t need to invite bugs into the home by hoarding candies in her room. It was just a few lines written in her neat, swirling hand:

_Zacharias:_

_I hope the cold the other day didn’t make you ill. If it’s convenient, would you come to my home this afternoon around 1:00? Please let me know if you cannot make it._

_Yours,_

_Eve B._

_P.S.: Don’t bring Espella. I’d rather it just be us._

He read the note three times, each time garnering no more meaning from it than the last. What did she want? Why could Espella not come? The girl would _want_ to come, but why would Eve rather it be ‘just them’? His eyes flitted towards the clock—11:45. That gave him just enough time to get changed; a walk to her house took nearly an hour from the bakery.

            “Ahem… Mrs. Eclaire? I’ve been invited to—” For some reason, he felt uncomfortable telling the woman and stopped himself. There wasn’t anything improper about two people meeting at one’s home, so why was he so embarrassed? The baker stopped arguing with Espella and looked at him sharply.

            “Yes, child? What is it?”

            “Eve asked me to meet her at one o’clock at her home. Will I be needed here?” Patty looked surprised before breaking into chuckles.

            “Go ahead, go ahead,” she waved him on. “Enjoy your youth, I suppose.” Espella wrinkled her brow and frowned at her guardian.

            “Can I go too, then?” she asked, discreetly pulling what she had left of the taffy towards her and flipping the edge of her hood over the candies.

            “Actually,” Barnham interjected, but faltered. How could he say this without hurting the girl’s feelings? Patty arched a brow and leaned around him, her mittened hand ruffling his hair affectionately as the read the note.

            “Espella, I need you to stay and help me with custards today,” she said decisively. Espella’s mouth opened and she made to protest, but the baker cut her off. “No arguing. Take your taffy upstairs and get your apron. Zacharias, you go get ready; if you don’t hurry you’ll be late. It’d be a nice gesture to take Eve some candy, too. After all, I heard she’s the one that pulled you out and kept you from dying of the chill while Espella got you something to wear.”

            Espella huffed and then sighed, unable to stay mad for long. She trudged up the stairs ahead of him and down the hall to her room. He followed, his face turning red as the baker’s words played over in his mind. _She kept me warm, indeed._ He shook his head, pushing the thoughts from his mind. _I can’t think of that, not when I’m about to leave. I’ll be walking down a public road in a few minutes!_

He hurried to change out of his floury armor, glancing out the window at the sun. He really didn’t have time to polish the armor—normal clothing would have to suffice. He pulled on a pair of grey pants and a dark blue shirt. Looking at the fog on the edges of the windowpane, he sighed and pulled out a long sleeved shirt to throw over the other one, not bothering to button it up. _I’ll be so happy when spring comes along._ There was a knock at the door, and then it opened and Patty stepped in with a basket.

“I went ahead and packed some of the candy. There’s gingerbread for Eve down in here too, and some iced buns and a scone or two…” she trailed off, looking awkwardly down at the floor before meeting his eyes with a smile. She shut the door behind her, looking over her shoulder. “Zacharias, child… you know I love you as my son, just like I love Espella as my daughter. I always wanted to have children, and I just can’t imagine my life without the two of you in it.”

“I know.” He did know; he felt the same way. There was a shadowy, half-remembered void where a parent should have been, and she filled it easily with her scolding and worrying and gentle pats that always seemed to come right when he needed them the most. He tried to return her affections with hard work and the rare embrace, but somehow it never seemed to measure up to her warm-hearted actions.

“And that’s why I’m telling you now—” She turned her head, her lips turning down as the apples of her cheeks stained a light pink. “I’m not the first one to tell you this, I’m sure, and… well, I know that you’re more than old enough to know about women and men and children by now. Goodness knows it was hard enough having to explain all that to Espella, and I’d hate to have to do it again. So I just want you to promise me that you’ll be careful. You and Eve both.” The real meaning of her words set in suddenly and he sputtered, waving his hands in denial.

“I-I-I don’t think that’s what we’ll be doing! Honestly!” he managed to say. He’d never felt so embarrassed in his life! “She probably only wishes to speak about something work-related, and we’ve only ever kissed, so—” He stopped, utterly mortified. Yes, surely this is what it would feel like having that sort of conversation with one’s real mother. “Don’t worry about me,” he finished, cringing.

“You’re good children,” Patty noted with pride. “You’ll take good care of each other, nevertheless. And don’t be so red-faced,” she laughed. “I still remember how it was. Of course, back then, we waited until we got married to make—well, to do grown-up things with each other. But we could still kiss, and my father hated it when I would sneak off with _that boy_ , as he called him.” She pulled off her mittens and tucked them under her arm, fluffing her hair as she continued her story.

“In any case, no matter what Daddy would say, I’d still run off and hide in the alley with my Jerry; we’d sit on a packing crate and look up at the clothes strung between the buildings, talking about how we’d be married one day. I still remember him holding my hand, covered in soot from his factory job and saying “One day you and I’ll have a deli, Patricia. You mark my words; I’ll save up the money and we’ll get us a real swell deli right on the corner next to the laundry.” Of course, it took longer than we thought, but we scrimped and saved every penny and we bought that little deli like we said we would.”

Barnham had heard enough about Patty’s strange stories to know that her memories weren’t from Labyrinthia. The Storyteller had explained to him that a ‘deli’ was a sort of bakery that sold sandwiches instead of just bread, and also had meats and cheeses to buy by the pound. Maybe it was only his imagination, but a part of him thought that he remembered delis, and had actually been to one himself. If he sat quietly and concentrated hard enough, he could remember a shiny tiled floor and a clear case full of sandwiches wrapped up with some sort of strange, clear paper that shone in the light and stuck together when you peeled it off the bread. Still, he often wondered…

“What happened to Mr. Eclaire?” He felt like it might be a personal question, but she might not even know. Was Mr. Eclaire one of the ones she left behind when she chose Labyrinthia over the modern world? He looked up from the basket and immediately felt bad; there were tears swimming in the older woman’s eyes.

“He’s gone.” She tugged the mittens back on, sniffling in a way that sounded as though she were trying to hide it. “There was an accident, and he’s gone.” She paused, frowning. “It was a carriage that hit him, but I couldn’t even tell you where in the city he was struck.” She shook her head. “I want to say…Chinatown. But what in the world is a China town?” she chuckled, wiping her eyes on her apron. “What is a China town?” she repeated quietly, no longer speaking to him as she turned and left. When she reached the door, she came back to herself and clicked her tongue.

“Goodness sakes! Are you planning to keep that poor girl waiting all afternoon?”

* * *

He _really_ couldn’t wait for spring. He slogged through the murky, damp forest, pulling his coat tighter around his body and shivering. It was so cold! Of course, it was warm compared to the way he felt plunging into the icy depths to get that child. The water had been so cold that he hadn’t felt it for a moment or two, his body shocked into numbness. He honestly hadn’t thought about the ice not holding his weight; from the moment they said ‘child’, his mind had been on autopilot as he worked to rescue the little boy that had gotten trapped beneath the ice.

He’d barely been able to see him in the water, and had finally managed to grab onto the child’s mitten and tug him close. Then it was a fight to get to the surface, making sure that he could get out of the hole he’d fallen through in. If Eve hadn’t have been there, he had no idea how he would’ve surfaced fully; the clothes and the child had been weighing him down, and the severe cold of the water had made it too hard to move. His lungs had been fighting for air, his mind panicked as he saw the child’s lifeless, unconscious face. One hand had been able to break through the water, and he’d felt it being grasped in a tight hold. He’d managed to make it so that the child came up first and someone had taken the body from him, and then he’d been heaved out of the water.

The only thing he’d been able to focus on was how cold he was. HE hadn’t been able to stop shivering, his body numb and yet somehow on fire as all the nerves screamed at him for facing the half-frozen river. He’d heard people shouting his name, but his mind had refused to let him understand what they were saying. He’d nearly blacked out, coming to himself again and finding that he was in a house, and Eve was closing the curtains and telling him to get undressed. He had pulled off his wet outerwear as she lit a fire, and the warmth coming from it had made him pause, as well as the sight of her on her knees before it. Her pants had been made taunt by her posture, outlining the shape of her thighs and he found himself staring at her before he could think better of it.

She hadn’t seemed to notice, only chiding him for not stripping fast enough. He knew that he had to get out of the wet clothes, but the thought of her seeing his body made him feel strangely ill at ease. It wasn’t as if she had never seen him without clothes before—she’d been there many times when they wrestled and trained shirtless at the garrison. After all, it had been her job to make sure all the knights were up to par. He’d always pushed himself on those days, telling himself it was because he wanted to give her no room to mock him as she so loved to do. But now that he thought about it, had he just been showing out to keep her eyes on him? _Of course not!_ his mind protested angrily, but he wasn’t so sure.

She’d brought him a sheet to wrap around himself and blankets to keep in the warmth, sitting him before the blazing fire and even making him a steaming hot cup of tea. She’d taken care of him, eliciting those strange emotions that kept popping up more and more, giving him ideas for gifts and making him think about whether her skin was as soft as it looked (it was) and how she’d react if he provoked her.

Lately it had made him want to tease her, watching in glee as she got flustered at the thought of him putting snow down her shirt like he had Espella. It had led to a rather enjoyable fight in the snow and somehow they’d both ended up on the ground, laughing together. He’d been so… _glad_ , and had almost wished that Espella would stay wherever she’d gone the rest of the day so that he could spend all his time basking in her presence with all her attention on him. He’d never had such selfish thoughts before, but now he was getting them more and more often, and always they were related to her.

He’d been meaning to use that moment, when they were both content, to tell her about his weird feelings and see if she understood what he was trying to say. But she’d looked at him in a strange way that sent his heart racing, and when he leaned close she hadn’t pulled away. All words left his mind when she blushed and her eyes closed; if that little boy hadn’t have had that horrible accident he’d have kissed her right in front of everyone without a second thought.

And then again, he tried to tell her what it was that he felt, but she was just so damn cute with her hair down around her face, eyes glittering as she leaned in and accused him of wanting to kiss her. It had been true, no doubt, but the way she’d said it made him sound like some sort of pervert and he had his honor to think about. Of course, honor flew right out the window when she let him kiss her again, her warm little body feeling nice against his chilled skin. She’d tasted like the teacake she’d eaten, and his hands seemed to have a mind of their own as he felt her curves through the sweater.

But in the end she didn’t let him stay, allowing Espella to wrap him up a new set of clothes and cart him back home where Mrs. Eclaire made him go to bed and drink hot soup, alternately praising his bravery and fussing about how careless he’d been. And he hadn’t seen her since, for the next day Patty hadn’t let him leave the bakery and every day since had been filled with work from morning till night.

The sounds of the lake and river filled his ears and he knew he was getting close. He picked up speed and sure enough the end of the path was there, the spires of her house just visible above the first rise. He climbed up the hill, stopping at the top to catch his breath. The frigid air was like stabbing knives in his lungs and he shook himself, adjusting the basket on his arm so that he could rub his hands together. He’d forgotten his gloves at home, and the tips of his fingers were numb.

 _Almost there._ He forced himself to walk down the hill towards her house, reminding himself that a warm fire awaited him there. A warm fire, and a lovely woman with sugary kisses and a soft, pliant body. _Get ahold of yourself, Zacharias. You can’t kiss her if she’s trying to tell you about construction costs for road repairs…well, you could kiss her and make her **stop** telling you, but she’d just get mad. _He shook his head, grumbling to himself. _Stop that! If you keep thinking about it, by the time you get there you’ll be liable to attack her the minute she opens the door! You let Mrs. Eclaire believe you’d behave yourself, remember?_

He knocked on the door, unsure of what he was going to say when she opened it. Now would be a good time to think of something. The basket shifted on his arm as if to remind him that it was still there and he grinned. Of course, he’d offer her the basket and say something like “Hello, Miss Eve. I brought you these from the bakery.” That would be nice, neutral, and a perfect way to say hello. The door opened and he held out the basket before him like a peace offering.

“Hello, Miss Eve! I brought you th—” The words died on his lips when he saw her, shocked to the core. This was… Eve? He stared, unable (and unwilling) to look away as she stood before him on the other side of the threshold. She was wearing white pants, similar the black ones she had on the day it snowed, and a snugly-fitting black shirt that accented her chest to the point that he found it hard to look away.

But even that wasn’t entirely mind-blowing—after all, her armor was rather form-fitted, and she did wear those ridiculously long boots that made him wonder what it would be like to take them off of her. It wasn’t that her hair was down again today, lying in long, soft waves across her shoulders without the static electricity that had frizzled it when she’d worn the hat and scarf. It was that she...for the first time that he could remember…was wearing makeup.

Not many women in the city wore cosmetics, and even then they didn’t wear _a lot_. Ms. Primstone had her crimson lipstick, and Foxy wore an entire face’s worth (though you couldn’t see it unless she took off the helmet). And Rouge as well…though to be fair Rouge didn’t register as a woman on his radar half the time, due to her loud, forceful tendencies and her ability to beat any patron at arm wrestling. Rouge was just one of the guys— until she had to adjust her top so that her breasts wouldn’t fall out in front of everyone.

But he’d never seen _her_ wearing any before. She really didn’t need it, he supposed. She looked just fine—better than fine—without it. Yet now she stood before him, the blue of her eyes enhanced further with mascara and a dark, mulberry color staining her lips. He stood on the step, basket still stretched out as he remembered he was supposed to have said something. How far into his sentence did he get along? Oh, well, no matter now.

“B-bakery,” he stuttered. Her brow furrowed and she took the basket from him; he forced his arms down, crossing them over his chest. He was unable to keep his eyes off her mouth; he had no clue _why_ , though. It was only a different color; it wasn’t as if it had changed in some strange way.

“Thank you; that’s very thoughtful. Candy?” She shifted the contents of the basket curiously. “Gingerbread…oh, iced buns too?” She smiled. “You’re trying to spoil me, aren’t you?” she teased as she held the door and motioned for him to enter. “Come in, Zacharias.” Oh, there went his heart, flipping around in his chest like a landed fish. He hurried in before more cold air could seep into her house, unwinding the scarf from his neck as she placed the basket to the side and took his coat.

“I was—er, surprised when I got your note in the mail earlier,” he admitted as she stored his coat and scarf on a rack. “I mean, I wasn’t expecting…I’ve been so busy lately that it came at a most opportune time,” he finally said, sticking with what was easiest to talk about. He was torn between bringing up the events of the other day and pretending that they never happened, especially since she’d thrown him for a loop.

“Yes, I thought since we didn’t have work today that we could just relax. After all, we’re…we’re friends, aren’t we?” She looked shyly at his coat, giving it a final pat before picking up the basket again.

“Of course we are! Why wouldn’t we be?” He followed her once again to the sitting room, where this time a fire already crackled merrily in the grate. She left him alone for a moment and then returned with more tea, placing the tray on the coffee table the same way she had the other day. She sat down on the loveseat, pulling one of the iced buns from the basket with an eager expression. He dug around and settled on a piece of gingerbread. “So, what do we talk about now?” he asked between bites. There was a pause, and then:

“Has the bakery been busy these last few days?”

“Aye, we had an order for eighty loaves of cheddar bread for Mr. Punchenbaug yesterday, to be finished by sundown, no less.”

“ _Eighty_?” She looked astonished. “Why so many?” He shrugged.

“I don’t know. He seemed happy, though.” She hummed and they ate in silence, the only sounds being the crackle of the logs in the grate and the chime of the clock as it hit the half-hour mark with a soft little melody. He finished off the gingerbread and licked his fingers before speaking.

“The candy is more…gratitude. The confectioner gave me some for saving his son, but I wanted to give _you_ some for saving my life. If you hadn’t grabbed my hand and helped pull me out, I don’t know how much longer I would have lasted either.” He looked up at her. “So, I thank you.”

“I’m flattered, but you don’t have to thank me. I was only thinking of helping in whatever way I could. After all, you couldn’t reach the bridge on your own, even under normal circumstances.” She shrugged and took a sip of her tea before reaching out to pat his hand. “And besides, I—your hands!” she exclaimed, pulling hers away quickly. “They’re like ice!”

“Yes, I forgot my gloves before I left the bakery,” he explained apologetically. “And holding the basket, I had no way of sticking them in my jacket without spilling the food, so I simply had to endure it.” It wasn’t as if he _couldn’t_ endure something as silly as a little cold weather; after all, he was a knight of the Inquisition! More than that, he was a _leader_ of the knights of the Inquisition! Or he was, anyway. There were still knights, even if there was no longer an Inquisition. And they still looked to him as a leader, though he didn’t do more than reconstruction and the occasional ceremonial training exercise with them.

“How can you forget your gloves during the coldest days of the year?” she scolded, grabbing the hand nearest hers and chafing it with a frown. “You’re lucky to not get frostbite; then you’d have to work the bread with nine fingers instead of ten.” She sounded like her old, strict self again, berating him for not filing his reports in the proper place. “I suppose you just thought that I’d warm them _for you_.”

He knew that she meant it as a barb, that she had to do everything for him if it were to be done right, but his mind automatically jumped to the other things that had happened on these cushions. Her mind seemed to go there as well, her fingers faltering in their work as she slowly turned red.

“I didn’t mean that,” she said quickly, as if that would erase the words from his memory. However, she didn’t let go of his hand, her fingers moving over him again in a softer motion, almost petting.

“Didn’t you?” She looked up at him sternly, but that weird need to tease her was in his blood again. He took his other hand and pressed it up against her neck, watching her shiver with satisfaction. Her skin was always softer than he remembered; each time he touched it he was pleasantly surprised. And it was still warm, warm as the bakery ovens, as fresh bread, as a roaring fire….

“O-of course not!” she protested, pushing her shoulders towards her neck and shying away from him. “What sort of woman do you take me for?!” He leaned in and she moved away, putting an entire expanse of cushion between them.

“I meant no offense,” he chuckled, scooting across the cushions as well until he was closer to her than before. “After all, aren’t we friends?” She muttered something under her breath, looking irritated. “You didn’t do my other hand. It’s still cold.”

“I’m not touching your other hand!” She moved even farther away, pressing herself into the corner of the loveseat as she crossed her arms. “B-besides,” she continued, her voice wavering a little as he shuffled a little closer. “What you’re suggesting right now isn’t what friends do.”

“What am I suggesting?” As if he didn’t know. She was so cute when she was flustered, her face varying shades of red as her eyes flitted from him to the door, then down to her lap before repeating the triangle again. “Maybe _you_ just have a perverse mind,” he teased.

“I do not!” she screeched crossly, her anger winning out over her coyness as she gave him one of her best glowers. His brows rose, waiting for her to continue, but she seemed content to keep herself from walking into another trap by staying silent. So it was just time to bait her again.

“Tis so! _I_ haven’t been suggesting anything,” he pointed out. “You’re the one who’s reading too deeply into my actions.” He dipped his head, mouth resting inches from her neck. “Even now, I haven’t done anything. You were the one who voiced the offer to warm me up, Miss Eve.”

“I-I didn’t!” she protested feebly, unable to press any further into the corner where the cushion met the armrest. She seemed to freeze under him, but her aura was one of anticipation, not fear. She was playing the game well, even if she wasn’t thinking about it. The clothes, the cosmetics, the thoughtless comments, the arguing…. There was a tension between them that had been keeping him on the edge of his seat almost since the day he met her.

“Didn’t you?” he repeated in the same tone as earlier. Her head jerked the tiniest bit, bringing a gentle, wafting fragrance to his nose. He breathed in, his heart speeding up in response. “You smell very nice, you know.” She gave another tiny jerk, and there was a quick pause before she answered.

“W-what do I smell like?” He leaned in closer, lips nearly brushing over her pulse as he breathed deeper. “Z-Zacharias…” She shivered, even though he hadn’t touched her at all this time.

“Those red flowers, and soap, and tea.” He kissed her beneath the ear, tasting the sensitive skin there and hearing her gasp sharply. “You should have known that merely being friends wouldn’t have suited me at all, _Lady Darklaw_ ,” he growled. He bent to kiss her again, but a hand on his chest firmly pushed him away. Confused, he wondered if he’d overstepped his boundaries when her head turned. He was stunned at the cool, distant look she threw at him, eyes both scrutinizing and unforgiving.

“You want Lady Darklaw, do you?” she purred in a tone he’d heard so many times before as she dealt him orders and censure in equal amounts throughout the day. “You can most certainly have her, too. Wait here.” With that order, full of warning should he dare disobey, she stood and walked to the threshold, hips sashaying in a way that was almost _too_ natural. She turned and regarded him once more, lips twitching. “Don’t move, or else.”

“Or else what?” She didn’t answer, only humphing as she moved out of the room and down the hall. He sat still, looking after her long past being able to see her from the loveseat, heart thumping wildly against his ribs. She was—how could she do that? Go from one persona to the next so seamlessly, without ever breaking stride as she buried her shy nature and took on the mantle of the High Inquisitor that had once been his superior? _Magnificent_ , his mind piped up, finally settling on a proper adjective for her.

He heard her stomping about upstairs, and then the sound of furniture being moved. Was she barricading herself in or something? He turned one ear towards the ceiling, trying to hear better, but as soon as he thought he was going to get an answer all movement ceased. He frowned, but then a door opened.

“Come upstairs,” she called imperiously. He stood, poking his head out the door to look in the direction that she’d gone. He didn’t see any stairs… He took off his long sleeves and hung them quickly with his coat before going farther down the hallway. A room branched off to what looked like a workshop, but no stairs. He turned the other way, and after walking past the kitchen he found them hidden in a small nook. They were spiral stairs, pushed against the wall and hiding any view of the murky floor above.

He paused when he could see the upper floor, looking down the hall warily. Most of the doors were shut to keep the warmth where it needed to be in the lived-in rooms, but the one on the farthest end stood open. The hallway was dark, only a few candles in their sconces providing any sort of rudimentary light. He took a deep breath and climbed up to the landing, walking towards the open room with his head held high. Whatever surprise she had waiting for him on the other side, he would be ready for it.

He entered the room, peering into the darkness with a frown. There was the shape of furniture, but he couldn’t quite see…. The door closed behind him and he turned on his heel, backing up a pace in his surprise as his hand jumped for the weapon that wasn’t there.

“Sir Barnham, how good of you to finally join me. You always seem to take your time, even when people are waiting.” She stepped past him, placing the lantern she held on the boudoir and motioning to a chair waiting alone in the middle of the room. “Have a seat.”

“Eve?” He blinked at her, sinking down to sit on the edge of the chair. The lantern threw the room into more shadow than light, and she constantly stepped to where part of her was always in the darkness that the lantern just couldn’t permeate. She was wearing her High Inquisitor uniform, high boots and all. She even had her golden gauntlet, and hadn’t taken off any of the makeup. The only thing she hadn’t fixed was her hair, though it was pushed behind her shoulders—perhaps she felt she hadn’t had time to do the intricate hairstyle?

“That’s Inquisitor Darklaw to _you_ , Sir Barnham.” She turned, the shadows playing off her grin and making her look almost malicious. “You wanted me, and here I am.” She stepped forward, the blade at her side swaying in time with her movements. “We’re about to start the interrogation. Are you prepared?”

“I—am?” Was he? He couldn’t decide. Maybe he should ask for some water; his throat felt awfully dry right now, but that may have been because of the way her uniform hugged her body; he hadn’t noticed it before, but now he was far more appreciative of the view. She tilted his head, the claws of her gauntlet scraping the skin gently and sending shivers down his spine.

“You sound concerned, Sir Knight. Don’t tell me you’re already ready to make a confession before we begin? Or are you afraid of me uncovering some unsavory secrets about your character?”

“What exactly am I guilty of?” he asked genteelly, trying to ignore the tingling sensation left behind by the claws when she took her hand off of his chin. “I was never read my charges.”

“Slander, for one.” The S rolled off her tongue smoothly, and she began her slow circle around the chair again. “Lack of decorum in public, immoral thoughts…” This time the claw wrapped over his shoulder, fingers plucking at the edge of his shirt. “I could add lack of proper dress during interrogation, but there’s not much either of us can do about that.”

“Lack of decorum?” She hummed in agreement, waiting until she was in front of him again before answering his question.

“You tried to kiss me in a public field, surrounded by people on all sides and in full view. You, a ‘man of knightly honor’.” She pointed at him. “Do you deny it?”

“No.” He straightened up. “But to be fair, you didn’t try to stop me.” She shrugged, the smug smirk that he loved to hate playing across her lips.

“This isn’t about me, Zacharias. It’s about you.” Her smirk widened. “Anything else before I start the questioning?”

“Not at all,” he replied just as smugly. He settled back in the chair, crossing his arms. “Proceed.”

“Tell me: you denied a lack of decorum, but not that you had immoral thoughts. Care to explain?”

“ _Everyone_ has immoral thoughts from time to time, unless they’re a eunuch.” He arched a brow. “Even you, High Inquisitor.”

“I don’t.” Her mouth tightened into a thin line.

“You’re a liar.” He stared at her intently. “What sort of thoughts have you had about _me_? Have you imagined doing this before?” He motioned to the space between them. Her face twitched in a spasm, gritting her teeth as she hissed and looked away. “Ah, so I’ve hit a nerve?” he chuckled. “I’m an Inquisitor too, if you don’t remember. I know all the telling signs, milady.”

“Be quiet!” she demanded, eyes narrowing. “I said this was about _you,_ not me!” He fell silent, watching as she took a deep breath and regained some of her control. “Now… I admit that I was looking forward to questioning you after the witch trials, but nothing went as I planned,” she admitted. “I never got the chance to see you in that dungeon, angry beyond words at how your lack of resolve had been your downfall.” She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “What made you think that I was a witch, back then? Even if you had followed me, how could you know for certain that I was behind that mask?”

“You _are_ a witch,” he amended. “You’re the Great Witch. You admitted it.” She walked slowly to him, bending over him.

“Where’s your proof?” she asked calmly. “Did you get a written confession from me? The only thing _I_ saw you do was voice your concerns to your beloved mutt.”

“Proof? You’re looking at it,” he replied. “You’ve bewitched me, haven’t you?” He couldn’t help but laugh when he saw her face break out of character, the frown less cold and more exasperated.

“Zacharias, that was awful,” she sighed, but he saw her lips twisting back up in a smile as he continued to laugh. He yanked her onto his lap while her guard was down, pressing up against her and ignoring her indignant protests. “Let me go! You wouldn’t treat the High Inquisitor this way!”

“ _I_ would,” he retorted, wrapping her hair around his hand. It was long enough that he could get a good handful of it without pulling her hair, but he still tugged gently when she tried to detangle herself from his arms. “Interrogations are over. I confess: guilty on all charges.” He put on a mock-repentant face. “Send me to the fires if you must.”

“Fires?” she sneered. “No, I have something far different planned for _you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did this become a three-parter? Ask my brain, and you shall have no answers. (shrug)


	3. Fin

            She honestly had no clue _what_ she was aiming for.

            _What are you doing?!_ Her mind was screaming, warning lights flashing like the electric bulbs of the modern cities in her brain. _You’re going to get in over your head,_ she continued to scold herself. _Just look at you, straddling some man’s lap dressed in your work uniform; you’re like some sort of tart!_

            But that wasn’t quite true—after all, she was in the sanctity of her own home, and it wasn’t just some man that she was with. Besides, he was technically holding her hostage, his fingers tangled in her hair and grip tight on her back. She always seemed to forget that he was used to wearing heavy armor and carrying a weapon; he wasn’t a weakling, and he had the strength to attest for this daily exercise.

            She was easily able to hide her growing nervousness beneath a mask of anger; she had done the same for years as the High Inquisitor, and it was far too easy to fall back into that role. It was about like slipping on a well-worn pair of socks, comfortable from use. And Rouge’s borrowed cosmetics had given her a small confidence boost, despite all odds. She even had a mind full of the woman’s advice, though she’d protested time and time again that she wasn’t looking to actually bed him… or at least, she didn’t _think_ she was.

            It was just so confusing! He was holding her against his body, staring at her with a smug expression of complete and utter ease of mind, as though he had everything under his control and was well aware of it. It was _too_ frustrating to see such a look on his face, to the point that she wanted to rear back and slap it off of him. But at the same time, it made her want to kiss him until he no longer knew where he was. How could one person be so conflicting?! He made her want to rip out her hair and scream sometimes!

            “Something different?” he repeated her words snarkily, one brow arching with a particularly infuriating indolence. “What do you mean?” He didn’t seem to notice her befuddlement, nor was inclined give her time to sort out her own feelings. “I doubt you can think of anything worse than immolation.”

            “Shut up,” she muttered, still trying to free herself from his hold. There were certain parts of him rubbing uncomfortably close to certain parts of her, and she really, _really_ hadn’t planned on doing—did she dare even think it? _Why did you lead him to your bedroom, then?_ a small voice in her head piped up in a sneer. She forced it back, refusing to think about such a thing when she was in such a compromising position. “Besides, no fire in Labyrinthia could compare to that hot head of yours, so why bother?” He laughed at that, his head thrown back so that he missed the blush of anger spreading across her cheeks.

            “I didn’t say that so that you might find it amusing, Sir Barnham!” she shouted, twisting his forearm in a vain attempt to make him let go. “Release me at once!” He did take his hand off her back, but only to replace it on her leg, his thumb gently chafing her inner thigh through the maroon cloth.

            “Oh, Eve.” He continued to chuckle, his teeth glinting in the lantern’s light as he surveyed her. His grin softened the longer he looked, thumb continuing to caress her thigh in little circles, barely pressing down.

            “ _High Inquisitor Darklaw_ ,” she ground out, glaring back at him the best she could, under the circumstances. His movements were becoming far too distracting; she needed to regain control of the situation before it got too out of hand. How had she even lost it? One minute she had him in the chair, putty in her hands, and the next she found herself on the wrong end of the proverbial blade.

            “High Inquisitor Darklaw,” he amended in a soft growl, sending a shiver down her spine. It rested in her stomach, settling into a low throb and spreading warmth throughout her limbs. She licked her lips, tasting the bitter tang of her lipstick; she’d almost forgotten about it. She rubbed the edge of her thumb against the corner of her mouth, hoping that her thoughtless action hadn’t smeared it. His eyes followed her movement ceaselessly, only adding to her growing anxiety. “Am I allowed some reprieve for surrendering so easily?” he asked, gray orbs flitting from her mouth to meet hers in a steady gaze.

            “A-absolutely not,” she hissed, swallowing hard. This was becoming a very dangerous situation…. She tossed her hair, mind scrambling for something that would give her the edge over him again. A ray of light shone in the dark and she smirked. “I don’t think you deserve an inch, Sir Apprentice Baker.” There, _that_ would be sure to irk him; he was an apprentice baker now, but they both knew she was referring more to that bumbling blue defender and his loudmouthed, childish cohort.

            It worked, all too well. His lips pressed into a thin line, a spark of indignation lighting his stormy irises as his face simultaneously darkened in comparison. His grip tightened on her hair until it was almost painful, thumb stopping its errant, never-ending trek on her thigh. Now it was her turn to be smug, and she took full advantage, sneering at him in silent challenge as she undertook the façade of the indomitable High Inquisitor once more. Would he let such a remark go unopposed? An argument would be better than this—this strange repartee. She could win fights easily; _this_ , however, was something she had no experience in.

            “I am _not_ Sir Apprentice Baker,” he snarled, eyes flashing dangerously. The vehemence behind his anger always struck her by surprise every time she heard it, and this was no exception. He was a forceful, passionate man by nature; he never gave less than his all, no matter whether it was baking, fighting, sparring, or his duties as an Inquisitor. The consequence of this was that he excelled in almost everything he tried, mostly from sheer willpower with a bit of luck and some natural aptitude mixed in. _I wonder what **other** things he’d be good at_ … again, she pushed the thought away with a forceful will of her own and listened as he continued.

            “I am _leagues_ above that foolish defender and his absurd logic.” To hear him talk, one would think that he wasn’t on good terms with ‘that defender’. Maybe it still stung his pride that he was beaten by the man in the Courtroom? Before she could pursue that train of thought, her entire world lurched as he stood abruptly, still holding her. She panicked, her golden claws digging into his skin through the shirt, but to his credit he didn’t drop her or even falter for a single moment. Perhaps the fates were on her side today.

            Or maybe not; she was deposited on her bed, which she had pushed aside in order to better create the atmosphere of an interrogation cell. Before she could move he was on her, noses brushing as he stared down with a domineering look on his face. Her heart skipped a beat before working overtime, thudding heavily against her ribcage. His breath wafted over her face and she felt a stirring of unwarranted desire in her chest, despite all her mental chidings and insistent denials.

            “I-Is that so?” she managed to sputter, her mind catching up and stalling like rusted gears. Any control she’d had was long gone now, but to her astonishment she was… _excited_. It was a strange sort of adrenaline rush to be this way, trapped with someone else holding the ropes. She’d been in control of everything for so long—the Shades, the town, the flow of the Story—that she’d forgotten what it felt like to not be in charge for once. He hummed in agreement, sitting up and carefully keeping his full weight off of her.

            “And if I must convince you of it, then so be it,” he added warningly as he stripped off his shirt in one swift move. She couldn’t help but stare at the defined planes of his chest, unable to properly breathe as her eyes travelled down his body of their own accord, resting where the flat ridge of his abdomen disappeared past the hemline of his pants. She gulped— or tried to, at least. Her mouth was suddenly as dry as a bone. “But you’ll be saying my name when I’m through, I assure you.”

            She was unable to move as he threw his shirt behind him; it landed with a _whomp_ on the floorboards somewhere out of sight. He reached forward and caught her hand, gently pulling off the clawed gauntlet and freeing her fingers from the metal. This too was tossed off the bed—albeit more gently. Then her cloak, unclasped from around her neck and allowed to remain beneath her.

It wasn’t until he unwound the yellow ribbon from around her neck that she understood that he was undressing her; she fell back against the bed in disbelief, partly because she never imagined him so bold as to actually initiate anything like this. How could he stand an hour and be afraid to give her a birthday present, and then move on to be daring enough to strip her down on her own bed when they’d first kissed just a few days before!?

            He was working on the buttons holding the stays of her blouse closed when she realized that she still wasn’t stopping him. He cursed under his breath as his nimble fingers tried to untangle the stays in the dim light. They brushed against her stomach as he worked, and she was reminded of that day, and the words he’d told her, or at the very least tried to convey. Comprehension washed over her, making her feel almost stupid for not fully understanding it before: he really liked her. Rouge’s blatant tones rang in her ear. _He’s head over heels in love with you, you know._

            She made some small sound—even she didn’t fully know why. But it made him pause, and he looked up from his current task to meet her eyes. His face softened and crinkled in that same goofy grin he always wore around her; she felt her heart give up trying to fight him anymore, and it melted.

            “This is okay, isn’t it?” he asked, a little sheepishly. _You think to ask that now that my top’s almost off?_ She thought, and inwardly shook her head in exasperation. She thought about pretending for a moment that it wasn’t, but that might make him panic at the thought of forcing himself in a very unknightly manner on a young lady. So instead she just flipped them over, pressing his shoulders down to the bed. Her blouse sagged, halfway undone, but she didn’t bother worrying about it. “Eve?” He looked up at her, puzzled.

            “If it wasn’t, do you really think you’d be here right now?” she replied contemptuously. “You’d be on the floor, in pain and unable to have children.” He laughed, but not unwarily. She ignored him and ran her hands down his chest slowly, feeling the warm skin beneath her fingers, relishing the sensation. It only reminded her that she didn’t often touch other people, and most certainly not in all the places that she was touching him. Was it a privilege to touch another human being? Perhaps it was, she decided; she lingered in spots, enjoying the mere feeling of his body.

He didn’t seem to have a problem with her taking her time; on the contrary, his eyes slid shut in satisfaction and he arched into her touch. She counted his ribs, feeling the muscles contract when she found a ticklish spot, and listening to his breathing grow heavier as she trailed her fingernails lightly across his stomach.

“ _Zacharias_.” Was that her voice? It sounded foreign to her ears, filled with a pleading intensity she hadn’t known she possessed. She’d just felt the need to speak, to cement that this was no dream of hers (not that she dreamed about him…often). His eyes opened, dilated and glittering with desire. He smiled.

“See? I told you that you’d say my name.” Her face contracted as she tried to keep from laughing at his pompous remark, and she smacked him on the chest in response. He winked and she rolled her eyes, looking thoughtfully at the red mark that blossomed from her hand before leaning down swiftly and kissing it. When she rose, her lipstick had left a smudged imprint just below his collarbone.

She stared down at the mark, something in her chest stirring. She wanted…she wanted to mark him all over like that. Leaning down again, she pressed insistent kisses to his throat, feeling his hum of pleasure vibrate beneath her lips. She reached his shoulder and bit down, feeling him jerk in surprise; he choked on a moan, hands finding purchase on her hips and squeezing. She ran her tongue over her teeth marks, nails digging into his shoulders as she continued to press her full weight against him.

“Eve!” His hips arched up and ground roughly against hers, his hands holding her lower body firmly and meshing it to his. “D-damnit…” he muttered, face flushed and eyes screwed tightly shut again. “You’re—you’re—” He seemed to be beyond coherent sentences at this point. She trembled at the sensations coursing through her, covering his chest and arms with lipstick and teeth imprints. She could’ve sworn he _wanted_ her to bite him harder, pressing up into her whenever her teeth scraped teasingly along his flesh.

He released her hips long enough to yank her back up; he kissed her eagerly, leg winding around hers and keeping her still until he flipped them over again. She ran her fingers through his hair, feeling the thick tangles as his tongue swept past her lips and claimed her mouth. Eventually they both had to breathe and broke apart; when she came back to her senses, he’d finally divested her of her blouse and was trying to push it off her shoulders. She helped him and he stared down, eyes locked on her bra-covered chest. His eyes were wide, lips darkened with the remainder of her lipstick.

She reached up and brushed his hair out of his eyes, lingering on the scar above his eye. He grabbed her wrist and nipped her fingers playfully before pulling both her hands above her head, holding them there as he bent his head to kiss her chin.

“You know, I promised that I would behave myself, and you’ve made me break my promise,” he said huskily. She blinked in surprise, trying to discern his meaning. Who had he promised? Mrs. Eclaire, most likely. Her mouth opened to ask him, but she instead yelped as he lowered his head further and flicked his tongue along her collarbone. Her back arched instinctively, pressing her breasts up in a silent supplication, but he only grinned and continued to lathe her pulse points until her entire throat was damp.

“Zacharias, _please_ —” Had she really been reduced to pleading? But she could only imagine what else he might do with that tongue of his. He leaned up, looking her straight in the eye.

“Please what?” he asked haughtily. The question caught her off-guard and she felt her cheeks burn.

“Don’t make me say it,” she mumbled, looking away. But he was relentless.

“Please _what_?” Her lips twisted, fighting to say the words she was just too shy to openly proclaim. Finally she compromised with herself.

“T-touch me.” There was a pause.

“Touch you where?” Dumbfounded, she looked back at him. Would he really make her say the whole thing?!

“You know where!” she hissed indignantly. He clicked his tongue at her frustration; the look on his face suggested that he thoroughly enjoyed his new position as the devil’s advocate.

“Here?” he replied, one finger stroking the inside of her elbow. She growled under her breath and shook her head. “Here, then.” Now he tickled the sensitive skin just beneath her jaw. She tried to rub his hand away the best she could with her shoulder, both her arms still being held above her head.

“No!” He frowned, expression growing serious for a moment.

“Eve, if you really want to do this, _all_ of this, I have to hear it from you.” She continued to stare incredulously at him, unresponsive. “I need you to say it. ‘Tis only two words; just say it.” He mouthed the words when she still didn’t answer, and she felt her entire body heat up. She just couldn’t say _that_ out loud; it was crass a-and lewd, and frank!

But he seemed entirely serious about his threat—she had to say it before he’d move on. Her mind searched for a better term, but came up blank. Everything she thought of was either too clinical or too bawdy for her to repeat out loud. And then she decided to say the one thing that was awful and mushy, but at least she could probably get the whole thing out without dying of mortification.

“Zacharias, m-ma—” She swallowed, closing her eyes. “M-make love to me,” she finally managed to blurt out. Damnit, now she was really red! She’d probably spend the rest of her life with a pseudo-sunburn from this sort of humiliation! There was complete silence, and she was too frightened to open her eyes until—

“Love?” She opened her eyes to see him looking down at her with an undefinable expression. She nodded, the movement almost imperceptible. Then, before she knew it, she was being kissed within an inch of her life. “A-alright then!” he conceded giddily when he let her breathe. “My sweet Eve.”

“Sweet?” she repeated, still half-dazed. He never answered, his hands running behind her to fiddle with her bra. It only took him a moment to figure out how it worked and then it was off. He wasted no more time, taking up her breasts with both hands and releasing her arms. She found her fingers wound in his hair again as he ran his tongue over the soft skin, biting down gently and returning every one of her bites, spread evenly across her chest until she was shaking and panting.

He climbed off her and tugged at her boots until they were off, followed by her pants. She lay on the bed in her underwear, feeling vulnerable and exposed. She didn’t want him to look, but at the same time she did, if only to see his reaction. He stared down through the murky darkness at her for a moment or two, unmoving. Then his hands moved to his own pants and in the span of a blink they were on floor, his boxers following.

He stood fully naked before her, allowing her to look at him as long as she pleased. He didn’t seem to be quite as bashful as she felt, though his cheeks were stained darker than the rest of his skin. He looked quite a sight, his hair messy and unkempt, covered from the chest up in lipstick and red marks. She was curiously shy about looking down, but finally forced her eyes to stare straight at his groin.

It wasn’t the first time she’d seen a man’s—well— _privates_ ; many times she’d been forced to throw drunken sods in the dungeons, only to have them rage and rip off their clothes before falling into an inebriated stupor. And sometimes men swam naked in the river; the girls always pretended that they never snuck around to peer at them through the bushes curiously. But this time was different, and she knew it. Besides, she’d never seen _his_ , and now she had. What she was about to do finally sunk in and she was decidedly beyond nervous.

He slid back onto the bed, fingers hooking the sides of her underwear. She raised her hips high enough for him to slip them down her legs and then she was entirely exposed. His hands ran back up her legs, simply feeling her, and then he gently nudged them apart. He looked at her, not saying a word, and she tried to close her thighs back together. He huffed and kept them apart, settling between them and sliding a hand back up her inner thigh. His thumb caressed her skin again and she was nearly ready to tell him to hurry it up when he moved.

He touched her, experimental in his soft ministrations as though he were afraid of breaking her accidentally. Her head fell back as he continued, hips twisting as he seemed to know exactly where to go next. She pressed her hand to her mouth as she moaned, teeth digging into her lower lip.

“No,” he whispered, voice stern. He reached up and pulled her hand away. “I want to hear everything.” Her hands fisted in her cloak instead, still between her and the quilt. She couldn’t stop the soft cries he kept wringing out of her, body singing as he brought her to the brink. She was hardly this vocal when she was alone, but then again, this was far more overwhelming than when she was alone. He pressed down firmly and she was finished, voice breaking as her back bent off the bed.

When the stars blinked out of her vision, she saw he was staring hard at her again. She cleared her throat and pushed the sweaty hair from her forehead, knowing that she probably looked absolutely ridiculous a few moments ago. Her body still shook with the aftermath as he looked openly at her.

“W-what?” she asked somewhat defensively. “Why are you staring?!”

“You’re beautiful,” he replied bluntly, leaning down to kiss her. “I could stare at you all night.

“Well… I’d rather you not.” She licked her lips, her throat feeling hoarse as he ran his hands under her legs and positioned himself. She felt him rubbing against her core and arched up, sighing contentedly without really thinking about it. His face was taunt as he entered her, hands squeezing absently and jaw set. She clutched his shoulders as he stretched her, toes curling against his calves and eyes widening when it began to hurt.

“Eve,” he panted, eyes shutting as a grim resignation crossed his face. She didn’t even have time to brace herself before he surged forward, thrusting in completely. She barely kept from crying out, the sharp pain rushing through her nerves and making her short of breath. When she finally calmed down and began to relax, she realized he was speaking. “Are you alright?” he repeated, voice strained as his hands smoothed her hair. She nodded, not trusting her voice to be completely unshaken if she spoke. “Can I move? I-I have to—” he murmured apologetically, drawing out of her and slowly sinking back in, a low moan reverberating in his chest.

He moved at an agonizingly slow pace, presumably to let her get used to the feeling. He shivered beneath her touch, alternately kissing her and tried to bite back his own sounds as he continued to thrust into her. She met every movement with her own, legs wrapping around his waist of their own accord as the pain faded and was replaced by a new pleasure. She gasped his name, holding onto him for dear life as she quietly urged him to go faster.

“Eve—Eve, look at me,” he pleaded, arms wrapping around her back and pulling her as close as she could possibly be to him. It was difficult, but she managed to open her eyes. He loomed over her, a bead of sweat running from his hairline down to his temple, lust and need burning in his eyes. “Don’t look away,” he ordered, shifting them both as he picked up speed.

“I—” How could she possibly explain what it was that she felt; that in this moment, for the first time in God knew how long, everything seemed to be absolutely perfect? There were no words for it, but she knew he could see it in her eyes, and his reflected the emotions perfectly. If only they could be this way forever, joined and complete in this room, time standing still while the rest of the world ran on without them.

But all too soon she felt the edge of her orgasm coiling in her stomach, ready to spread through her body in a sweet fire. She grasped for his hand and he laced his fingers through hers, pressing his lips to her jaw as his breathing grew ragged. She pressed her hips to his desperately, eyes unable to remain open as she sought release. Then they both shifted and he hit something deep within her. She tensed and cried out, limbs melting and hand clenching his tightly until she slumped against the bed. He didn’t last much longer, his grunts muffled as he buried his face into the crook of her neck, body trembling and jerking uncontrollably.

He pulled out of her and collapsed at her side, both of them silently trying to catch their breath. Eve looked down at her cloak, now wrinkled beyond recognition, and let her head fall back onto the pillow. Her thighs were sticky, entire body covered in their combined sweat, and starting to ache. Still, she felt pretty damn good. Tired, but good. She turned her head to see him watching her quietly, a cryptic smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Zacharias?”

“Hmm?” He propped his head up on one elbow, his other hand still holding onto hers.

“Are you finally warm now?” He chuckled and nodded. “Are you going to stay here? We shouldn’t leave the lantern on too long. It’ll start a fire if we’re not careful.”

“Do you want me to stay?” It was a simple enough question, but the implications behind it were staggering.

“I—I do.” He got up without another word, padding across the room naked and extinguishing the lantern. The room was thrown in darkness, and immediately she heard him bump into the chair and stumble, hitting the side of the bed with a curse. She sighed as he crawled back into the bed next to her, rubbing his knee. “Idiot. You could have carried the lantern to the bedside table before you blew it out. Or at least moved the chair.”

“I’ll be alright.” He wrapped his arms around her; he was just as sweaty, but surprisingly she didn’t mind. Maybe after their nap they could clean up… she tsked, shaking her head. It wasn’t worth scolding herself for having such lewd thoughts, not now. Still, if she could get a round two out of him before he went back to the bakery…. She smiled, pressing her cheek to his chest and closing her eyes.

She’d have to make sure the lipstick was gone, in any case. She didn’t need Espella asking any questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zacharias is warm. Show’s over. Go home.   
> Presumably you’re already home, but maybe not. I don’t know where you read fanfictions. You might be kinky like that. Juju don’t judge. Especially considering I wrote it.

**Author's Note:**

> Fluff tier. I know.


End file.
